


Hands That Give

by sciencebluefeelings



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Anxiety, Delta Vega, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:26:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21599920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sciencebluefeelings/pseuds/sciencebluefeelings
Summary: The fic where Jim successfully commits mutiny and the person that comes through the black hole is McCoy Prime.
Relationships: Leonard "Bones" McCoy Prime/Spock, Leonard "Bones" McCoy Prime/Spock Prime
Comments: 26
Kudos: 68





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much to [@FluxieJew](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WixyPagan/pseuds/WixyPagan) for the cover image ^^
> 
> Dedicated to the Spones chat for sparking this incredible, amazing crazy concept to begin with!

_When hell freezes over._

McCoy kneels on the godforsaken icy wasteland of a planet and stares up through tears at the sky.

He watches as Vulcan is completely ripped apart, billions of lives lost in seconds. All because of his mistakes. Because of his love.

And he thinks, _hell is frozen_.

McCoy grits his teeth as he attempts to light a meager pile of sticks with an emergency flare. He keeps up a stream of curses under his breath, only because he's run out of tears to cry.

The cave he’s retreated into shelters him from the howling wind, but it’s still just as damn cold.

The wood ignites brilliantly, and McCoy sighs in relief. For a while, he just stares at the flames licking the edges of the firewood. Its crackling noises mix with the howling of the wind outside.

An echoing screech and rumble causes the entire cave to quake in response, and a clump of snow falls directly onto the fireplace, putting it out instantly. 

McCoy would be more pissed about the smoking pile of extinguished wood if the rumbling noises weren’t growing to deafening levels. 

A giant creature slides into view, crashing into the cave wall with a howl. It’s chasing someone, a figure in a hooded coat that’s basically a blur, desperately dodging the creature’s jaws. 

McCoy springs to action. “Hey!” he cries out. He runs towards them, wildly waving his arms. “Over here, hurry!”

McCoy doesn’t expect the figure to notice him, but they do and sprint in his direction. McCoy leads the way, making a sharp right turn past what’s left of the firewood, finding a deep, narrow crevice in the rock face. He pulls the hooded figure in behind him.

The creature slams against the entrance, clawing and gnawing. McCoy shrinks back further, but even with his thin frame McCoy is pressed flush against the stranger with no spare room to move. 

The creature is far too big. Its mandibles gape at the entrance, noisily scraping at rock. It repeatedly flicks out a long, probing tongue, but it is not long enough to reach them.

McCoy finally turns and looks up at black, straight cut bangs, pointed ears and dark eyes.

“Oh my god.”

McCoy stares. He’s had a fucking long day. Scratch that, a fucking long _three decades._ Suffice it to say, McCoy’s convinced he’s been dreaming a very long and terrible dream and is going to wake up any moment now.

“Your assistance is greatly appreciated, sir,” the pretty little Vulcan says.

“Spock?” McCoy realizes one of his gloved hands is reaching out to gently cradle the Vulcan’s face, and quickly snatches it back.

The Vulcan’s eyes are wide with confusion and alarm. There is no sign of recognition in his restrained expression. Good god, it’s definitely him. He’s still taller than McCoy, but he’s so _young_.

McCoy is close enough to see his long lashes flutter as he blinks and asks, “How do you know who I am?”

McCoy’s heart is lodged in his throat. Suddenly, he is worried about divulging his identity to the young Vulcan. McCoy’s no stranger to counterparts in alternate realities, but this is the only reality where McCoy’s personal failures have resulted in such devastating consequences. What if he ruins this Spock’s life, too? Has he already affected him?

The beast snorts and hisses. It has tired of its thrashing and licking but has not moved from its location.

“You have not responded to my question.”

McCoy says tiredly, “Let’s just say I know you but I don’t know _you_. Is that good enough?”

The young Vulcan is now visibly struggling to contain his bewilderment, but he doesn’t say anything else.

Time passes, and the creature doesn’t leave. Minutes turn into hours. Or maybe that’s just McCoy’s perception of the slowly ticking seconds. Spock shifts again.

“Would you hold still,” McCoy snaps. One of Spock’s legs is wedged in the space between McCoy’s thighs, and McCoy wills himself to not make this any more humiliating than it already is.

“This is not the most favorable position for maintaining a motionless posture.” McCoy can almost hear the disapproval in his tone.

“Don’t blame me for saving your life, hobgoblin. I wasn’t expecting the creepy-crawly to hang out for this long.”

Spock’s eyebrows raise at the casual insult. “That is a very poor way to treat the Acting Captain of the Federation flagship, sir.” 

Fear strikes McCoy’s heart. “You? Captain? What happened to Jim?”

Spock says with utter distaste, “Thirty point ten two minutes ago, Cadet James Kirk successfully overthrew my command and marooned me on this planet.”

McCoy finds himself unable to breathe. “How?”

“He had the assistance of one senior medical officer called _Doctor McCoy_.” Spock spits out the name in a startling display of pure emotional hate.

McCoy reels back. “That can’t be true.”

“Vulcans cannot lie.” Spock peers back out at the entrance. “It is imperative that I depart from this cave and locate the Starfleet outpost to the northwest.”

Spock makes a small noise of discomfort, fully garnering McCoy’s attention. Even in the darkness of the crevice they are crammed into, McCoy can see how pale Spock is. “What’s wrong?”

Without waiting for a reply, McCoy begins assessing Spock. The shadow of the dark fabric has obscured the extent of shredding. McCoy yanks down the Starfleet regulation parka, maybe with a little more force than necessary, and stares at the gaping green gash on Spock’s upper arm. “Spock, good lord!”

McCoy suddenly feels a jolt of terror. “ _Jim_ didn't do this to you, did he?”

“The cadet never touched me. It was an injury received from the attacking _hengrauggi_.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about this earlier? You pointy-eared, stubborn, good for nothin’-” McCoy continues to angrily mutter as he swiftly cuts off the remnants of the bloody sleeve with his utility tool. “I’ve only got hypos for minor bacterial infection, hold still.”

He jabs Spock’s neck with the hypo before tossing it aside to locate his hidden dermal regenerator and stash of gauzes in his lower left pants pocket. He runs the regenerator, already knowing it won’t be able to fully heal the wound. “No wonder you’re looking as pale as a ghost, you damn Vulcan.” 

“It is illogical to compare my tangible visual to an apparition that cannot be seen.” Spock stares at McCoy’s hands as they deftly wrap the gauze and secure it. “You are experienced with this.”

“That’s one way of putting it.” McCoy redresses Spock in the parka with far more gentle motions. “I won’t be able to completely heal that until we get to the Starfleet base.”

“Fascinating. You insult me, and yet at the same time you heal me and desire to continue doing so.” Spock leans a fraction closer into McCoy.

“How long is that damn buzzard of a creepy-crawly gonna slobber at the entrance, anyways?”

“As I have mentioned, sir, the creature is called a _hengrauggi_ , and I do not believe there is any feasible way of determining its desires or motivations.”

“I’m a doctor, not a ‘sir’.” McCoy tries to move this time, but the creepy-crawly’s tongue shoots out and almost catches him in the ankle. “Corned ham son of a biscuit eater, I didn’t think we’d be stuck in here this long.”

The Vulcan looks faint. “You have a completely nonsensical and fascinating vocabulary, Doctor.”

“You bet your pointed ears I do.”

In the end, it takes four hours for the creepy-crawly to finally stop scraping and licking and screeching. It sits motionless, nearly blocking the entrance.

“It has fallen asleep, Doctor.” McCoy has no choice but to trust those pointed ears as Spock leads McCoy out of the crevice. They both freeze when the creepy-crawly snorts and shudders, but it stills once more.

They relocate a safe distance from the sleeping beast and prepare to depart. McCoy ventures to the entrance of the cave, grimacing at the whirling snow. “Looks like a blizzard’s about to start. Maybe we should wait.”

Spock strides past him. “Whether or not you accompany me, I have no time to spare. I must reach the base.”

McCoy scowls. “Oh, you stubborn, green-blooded bastard.” He ducks his head against the fresh gust of wind and follows Spock out of the cave. “Why are you so desperate to get back?”

“Captain Pike has been taken hostage by a Romulan that has traveled from the future, who calls himself Nero. He has just destroyed my home planet, and Cadet James Kirk is now intent on rescuing Pike despite being technologically outmatched in every way.”

McCoy falters upon hearing Spock mention Vulcan. 

“Spock - I’m so sorry.” McCoy chokes. Words don’t even begin to encompass the immense guilt he feels. “ _I grieve with thee_.”

Spock stops walking, and McCoy nearly runs into him. 

Piercing eyes meet McCoy’s, shrouded by the falling snow. “You know my name and you know I am Vulcan.”

McCoy can’t make eye contact. “Yes.”

Spock remains motionless a moment longer, then shakes his head. “We must keep moving.”

The blizzard worsens even as they walk. Afraid of losing sight of Spock, McCoy grabs his arm, the uninjured one. Spock stumbles and nearly falls over.

“Spock!” McCoy helps him back to his feet and Spock falters again. He’s probably in worse shape than the doctor thought. McCoy wishes desperately for a medical tricorder. “Say something, dammit!”

Spock leans heavily on McCoy’s shoulder. “Doctor, I calculated the odds and took the risk. It my fault that we have reached this predicament. Your chances of survival increase exponentially if you leave me behind.”

“Dammit, Spock!” McCoy readjusts his grip on the bony Vulcan. “We’re getting to that outpost together or not at all.” With Spock carefully balanced on him, McCoy resumes walking and he mutters, “I’m never leaving you again. Never.”

The almost inaudible words are lost to the wind and snow.

McCoy gasps in relief as the doors of the outpost close behind him, shutting out the piercing wind. “Medical care first.”

Spock ignores him, pulling out of his grasp and moving forward sluggishly on his own. 

McCoy sighs. “Fucking stubborn little hobgoblin.”

A strange little fellow wearing the Starfleet insignia appears, greeting them with a trill. He leads them deeper into the outpost, which McCoy observes with a sinking stomach is about the same damn temperature as the damn ice cave.

“Mr. Montgomery Scott,” Spock says loudly. 

A strange, thin shadow of the image of Scotty is sitting at a desk. Upon seeing Spock, he splutters and leaps to his feet. “Mister Spock!”

“I require your assistance, Mister Scott. You are the one who proposed the theory of transwarp beaming, is that correct?”

Scotty’s face contorts. “Well, yes-”

“I need to beam onto a ship that is travelling at warp speed immediately. Is this possible?”

“Theoretically? Yes.” Scotty gestures at the transporter area. “However, I haven’t quite gotten the equation down quite yet.”

“The definite equation of subspace travel.” Scotty and Spock swivel around to face McCoy, who blinks and shrugs. “It’s quite simple, actually.”

Spock interrupts whatever Scotty was about to say. “Doctor, you must give me that equation.”

For the first time, McCoy really allows himself to look at the young Vulcan. McCoy sees insecurity, fear, barely disguised desperation.

Anger.

The Vulcan repeats, “Doctor, there is no time to spare. I need that transwarp beaming equation.”

“No,” McCoy finally says.

The young Vulcan’s voice becomes low and dangerous. “Pardon?”

McCoy steels himself and tilts his chin up in defiance. “I may be in an alternate reality, but I’m still a Federation doctor, dammit. And I have determined that you are emotionally compromised and unfit for duty. ”

“Doctor, I must stop Cadet James Kirk and join with the rest of Starfleet to determine our next course of action.”

“My responsibility is your health. You’re feeling humiliated and betrayed from what has happened. Not to mention you’re injured and exhausted from overworking yourself.” 

“Such emotions are foreign to me.” 

McCoy’s voice softens. “Spock. No matter what, you’ve just lost your homeworld and god knows who from your life. By choosing to side with Jim, the entirety of the _Enterprise_ crew broke your trust. It’s alright to feel hurt.”

The Vulcan advances on McCoy, causing Scotty and his assistant to quake in terror. “Doctor, you will relinquish your hold on me and allow me to return to the _Enterprise_. I do not want to physically subdue you but I will use force if necessary.”

“Do it,” McCoy spits. “I dare you.”

The Vulcan reaches for his face, and McCoy closes his eyes.

McCoy still vividly remembers the first Vulcan intrusion on his mind.

He can still recall the face of the Spock of the Mirror Universe, a face marred with a beard and unfamiliar scars.

The meld had been painful and brutal as it tore into McCoy’s mind, leaving him bare and helpless to stop the invasion.

By the time they had gotten back to their own universe, McCoy’s hands had stopped trembling, but that was only from decades of learning how to steady his life-giving fingers.

Spock had held McCoy in bed that night, naked except for the blankets that covered them both. He shuddered when he saw the extent of damage to McCoy’s mind.

Spock had begun instructing McCoy how to construct mental shields and strengthen his mental fortitude.

It had been an agonizing, tedious process that McCoy complained about every inch of the way.

Spock had been insistent that they see the lessons through to the end, intent on teaching McCoy the means to protect himself.

How ironic that the first person McCoy will utilize the technique on is Spock. Again.

McCoy gasps and leans against the wall to brace himself. The young Vulcan has gone into a dead faint. Scotty yells in shock. “What just happened? Did you _kill_ the lad?”

“S’alright, Scotty, I expected that to happen,” McCoy grumbles. Keenser squawks as McCoy kneels down and gives into the impulse to smooth the Vulcan’s mussed hair. “He’ll come to in just a moment.”

Part of McCoy is distantly shocked that Spock would go this far. The other part is downright irritated by the recklessness.

Spock’s eyes crack open.

“Welcome back, Sleeping Beauty,” McCoy says flatly.

Spock is in awe. It takes him a while to speak. “You are Doctor Leonard McCoy. From the future.”

McCoy sighs. Well, no one said his technique is perfect. “I am.”

“Your mental shields are _exemplary_ for a non-psi human. They rebuffed me instantly. I could barely read anything.”

McCoy helps Spock lean against the wall. “Now sit down and don’t move. Scotty, if you could show me where the medical equipment is?”

“Right away, Doctor.”

“Doctor McCoy, wait.”

McCoy looks back and nearly has an aneurysm when he sees Spock struggling to his feet. “Good god, Spock!” He rushes back. “Sit down right now! What part of ‘don’t move’ don’t you understand, you thick-headed Vulcan?” 

Spock struggles against McCoy’s grip. “You may have repelled me this time, but I will not give up so easily.”

McCoy looks at this aggressive, harsher, younger Spock with his bloodied arm and resentment burning in his eyes, and McCoy’s heart _hurts_.

McCoy lets out a breath and pokes a finger into the Vulcan’s chest. “Tell you what. I’m feeling generous today, so let’s you and me make a deal.” 

Spock’s eyebrows raise.

“If you achieve a Vulcan healing trance within the next twenty-four hours, I’ll let go of you. I’ll input the equation, activate the transporters, and let you return to the _Enterprise_. But _only_ if I determine you are completely physically fit!”

“I shall achieve a healing trance in two point zero zero hours exactly,” Spock snaps. He stalks off.

Scotty’s eyebrows raise. “He’s temperamental, that one. Aren’t ye worried about him?”

McCoy watches him slip through the door. “Believe me, I know him far better than he realizes. He’s not going anywhere.”


	2. Chapter 2

McCoy quietly opens the door and peeks in.

“Spock.”

The young Vulcan slouches from where he’s been sitting on the floor without access to a meditation mat and incense. Noisy filters clatter inside every wall. Scotty has claimed this suite contains the warmest bedroom, but Spock is still completely bundled up in his awkward parka because it’s fucking cold.

McCoy’s voice is flat. “Unable to successfully enter a healing trance in these conditions with your current state of mind? Shocker.”

Spock bows his head in defeat.

McCoy leans closer. “Now listen to me, Mr. Spock. Vulcans can go without sleep for weeks, but you’re injured, your mental controls are in tatters, and you’ve been in a state of high stress for god knows how long, and that’s completely unacceptable.”

McCoy points. “Shower. Bed. I'll check your arm once you've cleaned it. Now go.”

Spock follows the orders without complaint.

McCoy is relieved to see him return from the sonic shower with slightly better pallor. Spock is half-dressed in newly replicated thermal wear that molds over his slim hips and legs. His black hair is fluffier than a tribble.

Spock settles under the covers of the bed. McCoy scans Spock with a medicorder before running the dermal regenerator again. He’s determined his own regenerator is the only properly functioning one in the outpost. 

How Scotty and Keenser have survived this long, McCoy has no clue.

Thankfully the wound is almost completely healed and won't need a bandage anymore. McCoy’s fingers linger as they check his handiwork. Spock’s natural scent belies the lingering distinct odor that results from using a low-quality sonic shower.

Spock’s eyes are closed. McCoy carefully tucks him in, then silently leaves.

McCoy is doing his absolute darndest not to tear a new one into Scotty.

The absentminded engineer has kept the outpost in barely livable conditions, choosing to redirect vital power from the living quarters to the computer processors. As a result, the pipes and temperature regulators of the bedrooms have completely deteriorated.

McCoy scowls at the food replicator, which has produced a pile of unidentifiable solid white cubes for the third time. “ _Hot chicken soup_ , god damn you! Is there anything on this tin can of a station that isn’t disintegrating?”

“Aye, the rations are still intact!” Scotty gestures to the dubious survival rations littering the ground. “There’s those and the Starfleet protein nibs. More in Storehouse 3 if ye be needin’ them.”

McCoy throws his hands up in exasperation.

“I dunnae what’s with that attitude, Doctor. The rations are perfectly fine. It’s the Starfleet protein nibs that are-”

McCoy freezes. “Shh! Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“Shh! Shhh!” McCoy strains to hear. It's definitely Spock's voice, distant and scared.

McCoy and Scotty begin moving towards his voice. McCoy calls, “Spock?”

“Doctor? Doctor!”

McCoy rushes into Spock's bedroom and opens for the bathroom door.

Spock is curled against a tiled wall of the shower, naked and dripping wet.

“Spock!” McCoy dashes forward as Scotty quickly averts his gaze. “Spock, what happened?”

“The shower appears faulty, as the settings switched from sonic to freezing water without warning.” Spock is beginning to shiver violently. “My limbs are cramping, Doctor. I cannot move.”

McCoy grabs a towel and begins to briskly dry Spock's deathly pale skin. “Scotty, can you bring some extra blankets or something?”

Scotty squints up at the showerhead. “Should I fix the shower, too?”

McCoy says through gritted teeth, “You know what, if you could do something about the heating first, that'd be swell.”

“That's a good point. Let me know if you still want those blankets. I'll be in the generator room.”

As Scotty disappears, McCoy drags Spock to bed, depositing him rather ungracefully on the covers and wrapping him in blankets. McCoy begins stripping his parka and clothing. Spock watches with wide eyes. “Doctor-”

“Shut up, hobgoblin.” In his thin undershirt and boxers, McCoy drops down and begins rapidly doing pushups, counting each one. He gets up, hearing his heart pounding in his ears, and slips next to Spock under the blankets. He presses the length of his body to the taller Vulcan’s, chest to chest.

McCoy bites back a curse. Vulcan's bodies are inherently a lower temperature than a human's, but Spock's flesh is like a giant icicle. It’s a wholly unpleasant sensation. McCoy tightly wraps the blankets around them.

Spock shamelessly slides his hands under McCoy’s undershirt, pressing frigid palms to his hot human back. He buries his face into McCoy’s neck with a barely suppressed groan. “Your flesh is like fire, Doctor.” He presses himself further into McCoy's body. 

McCoy can already feel Spock beginning to warming up. “You with your damn weird Vulcan physiology. At least you won’t stay cold for long.”

Spock doesn’t move from where his cheek presses against McCoy’s collarbone.

Eventually, Spock’s body feels about the same temperature as McCoy’s. McCoy can’t tell if it’s because he’s gotten colder or because Spock’s gotten warmer, and he can’t reach the medicorder to check. Spock doesn’t release his grip on him.

“Doctor, is it true that you were in a relationship with my counterpart of your universe?”

McCoy tenses.

He’s stuck, unable to escape Spock or this conversation. 

“How much did you see in that mind meld?” McCoy asks, apprehensive.

“Enough.”

McCoy swallows. “Yes, we were - together. For some time. He was very insistent that we keep it a secret.”

McCoy thinks of stolen kisses, of Spock's palpable trepidation. He thinks of Spock's insistent hands in the safety of the night and a locked room. Those maddening, beautiful hands would remove his own clothing and then McCoy's with routine precision before pushing McCoy into bed.

“What happened to him, Doctor?”

McCoy closes his eyes. “Some things aren’t meant to work out.”

“That-” Spock sneezes a kittenish sneeze.

Ah, fuck.

Of course with their ongoing luck Spock would get sick. McCoy alternates between his futile efforts to locate a non-expired hypo to treat the symptoms, and just lying in bed with Spock, trying to keep the poor Vulcan warm.

At least his arm's mostly healed, but with Spock's physique, he should've been fully healed a long time ago. It's worrying to say the least.

Scotty shows up from time to time, awkwardly offers rations and Starfleet protein pellets. He explains the process of repairing the heating, which Spock avidly listens to, but McCoy finds himself dozing off hearing about capacitors and resistors and whatnot.

That night, McCoy wakes and realizes Spock is watching him. “You need to sleep, Spock. You can’t heal otherwise.”

Spock doesn’t reply. McCoy adjusts his position, cradling Spock more carefully. Spock always keeps his hands pressed to McCoy’s bare back when they lie together. Even the Spock of McCoy's universe hadn't been this tactile.

“Spock, tell me about your _Enterprise_ crew. What is my counterpart like?”

Spock thinks carefully for a while. “Doctor McCoy is ill-tempered, crass, and does not trust anyone.” Spock hesitates. “His skill is renowned, and he is a highly thoughtful and intelligent individual. He spares no favoritism for anyone, even his best friend. As a matter of fact, his friend may be the recipient of his worst criticism. Doctor, did you also serve on the _Enterprise?_ ”

“I was. I was CMO, and Jim was our captain. You were the first officer.”

“Fascinating.”

“Sulu was the senior helmsman and Uhura was our communications officer.”

“Lieutenant Uhura’s role aligns in our universe. However, Hikaru Sulu is in the sciences division. Lieutenant Uhura’s partner Lieutenant Gaila is the current senior helmsman.”

“Oh. Our Sulu was serving as the department head of Astrosciences for a time, but eventually he switched to the command division. I think it pleased Jim.”

“I am curious of the James Kirk of your universe, Doctor.” Spock settles deeper into his pillow. “In our reality, I find the cadet difficult to teach. He is an immature and confrontational young man.”

“You’re an instructor?”

“Yes. A professor.”

McCoy frowns. “You’re a Starfleet Academy professor already?”

“Indeed.” Spock becomes subdued. “As the more experienced individual, I did not even consider the possibility that Kirk would successfully overthrow my command. The odds were infinitesimal.”

“Well, that’s Jim for ya. Constantly defying the odds. Winning in no-win scenarios. He was a perfect match with you - your counterpart, in commanding the _Enterprise_. You two balanced each other. Made my blood pressure go through the roof daily with your death-defying feats.”

“Somehow, that does not surprise me.” Spock removes his hands from McCoy's back to hug him closer. “You seem to still care very much about my counterpart.”

“Yeah, well I’m also an illogical, emotional wreck of a human specimen.”

“If you care so much, why did you leave him?”

McCoy stutters, wide-eyed and fearful.

Spock shifts so that he is better facing McCoy. “While we were traveling to the Starfleet outpost, you refused to leave me behind. You said you would never leave m- leave my counterpart. Again. Why is that?”

“It was all my fault.” McCoy’s throat goes tight. 

“I would like to understand what happened.”

McCoy shakes his head. “Let’s go to sleep, Spock.”

“I find it difficult to believe you would never seek out my counterpart again after separating, Doctor.”

For once, McCoy is silent.

Scotty slams open the door to their room with a holler of triumph. He has repaired the heating to one small living space at the end of the hallway. They all relocate there immediately.

The kitchen is cramped, but there’s enough space for them to sit at a table together in the adjacent room, not to mention the heat feels _amazing_. 

A large window reveals the brilliant morning sun. The blizzard’s over for now.

Spock sits right next to the window in a thin shirt and boxers, eyes-half closed as he basks in the sunlight and artificial heat. His face is still slightly flushed from the fever. 

He looks ethereal. 

McCoy wraps an arm around Spock’s shoulders, pretending to check Spock’s temperature before quickly moving on. Spock blinks at the contact, but does not shy away. 

“You’re vegetarian, right? Here.” McCoy sets plates full of food down on the table, then goes back into the kitchen. Scotty and Keenser fall on the food like starving animals.

Spock looks up. “Omelettes, Doctor? I thought you were attempting to replicate chicken soup.”

McCoy sighs. “You remember all those white cubes the replicator kept spitting out?”

“Yes, Doctor.”

“They’re eggs.” McCoy sets down a bowl in the center of the table. “Perfectly safe to eat, but, well.” Spock stares at the hard-boiled white cubes.

And then he laughs.

McCoy reels back. “Good god, are you delirious? The fever must be worse than I thought!”

Spock rubs at his face, still chuckling. “Only you would produce something so outlandish yet coincident with your intended product, Doctor.”

“Someone’s in a good mood,” McCoy grouches, but a smile ends up tugging at the corners of his lips. “Of all the things that would make you laugh, it’s my own misfortune.”

Eventually Scotty and Keenser disappear, leaving McCoy to clear the dishes. Spock offers to wash them, which gets him a glare and an order to _sit still already_.

In the end, because the dishwasher isn’t working, McCoy washes and Spock carefully dries each plate and utensil before placing it in its proper drawer.

“Can’t remember the last time I did this with someone,” McCoy idly mentions. “Actually, scratch that.”

“Yes?”

“Jim.” McCoy’s movements stutter, and Spock focuses on him. “At his apartment. It was the last time we ever saw each other. That was a long time ago.” McCoy scrubs the soapy surface of the same pot over and over.

“I was under the impression you had stayed in contact.”

McCoy sighs heavily. “No.” 

“Why?”

“Nosy Vulcan.” McCoy attempts to redirect Spock’s attention. “How are you feeling?”

“I am feeling fine.”

“Fine has variable definitions, green-blooded hobgoblin. I dunno if it’s the same in this universe, but Amanda hated it when you used that word.” McCoy moves to dry his hands off, but Spock desperately grabs him.

“You - knew my mother?”

“‘Course I did. The Amanda of my reality, anyways. She’s still alive and married to that codgy hobgoblin Sarek, as far as I know.” McCoy is startled by Spock’s rapidly shifting expressions. “Spock?”

“Please tell me more about her.”

“She's your mom, Spock,” McCoy says in confusion.

“Humor me, Doctor.”

McCoy hums. “Well. Did you know her favorite tea was Earl Grey with milk and honey?”

Spock turns away and falls into a chair at the table, a kitchen towel still twisted between his hands. “No. I did not. She always drank traditional Vulcan tea with my father and myself.”

A suspicion tingles at the peripheral of McCoy's mind, but he ignores it and focuses on talking calmly about Amanda’s culinary preferences, which leads to her preferences in makeup brands, in Terran fashion styles, in animals. As he finishes washing and drying the dishes, he talks about Amanda’s garden, carefully cultivated in the shade of Vulcan. 

He makes no mention of barely audible sobs filling the air.

McCoy checks Spock’s temperature one last time as the Vulcan lies in the warm bed. The sound of Scotty’s snoring from his sleeping bag in the kitchen can be heard through the door. “Now, if you need me, I’ll be right outside on the couch. Don’t hesitate. Night, Spock.”

“Doctor.” Spock sits up, grabbing the sleeve of McCoy’s sleepwear. “Sit.” Confused, McCoy sits on the edge of the bed near Spock. 

Spock looks hesitant. He steels himself with a deep breath.

“That.” 

“What? That?”

Spock doesn’t break eye contact. “You look at me like that, Doctor, every time you look at me, and I cannot imagine my counterpart ever leaving you.”

“He didn’t leave. Like I told you, I scared him away.” McCoy slowly pulls away from Spock’s grasp and blows out a breath. 

Maybe it’s the darkness of the room, maybe it’s the way Spock’s hand still lingers in the air between them, but the words keep spilling out.

“It was the end of our five-year mission. We’d been together for quite some time by then, but we’d never tried to explain what was going on between us. And Spock - he proposed to me.” 

Spock ponders this. “You rejected him?”

McCoy’s voice is broken. “I told him that I’d never marry anybody again. I say plenty of bullshit I don’t mean, but in that moment, I think there was a little too much truth in my words. And I think he knew. He ran away to Vulcan that very day.”

“To complete the Vulcan discipline of Kolinahr.”

McCoy looks warily at the younger Vulcan, who continues to speak. “I, too, considered attempting Kolinahr to purge all emotions.”

McCoy finds himself reaching out to briefly touch Spock’s face, smooth and slightly flushed.

“So my counterpart achieved Kolinahr in your universe.”

Everything is suddenly distant. 

McCoy feels like he’s forty-something years old again, screaming at his former lover, begging, _crying_ , and receiving no response in return. 

“Is that correct?” Spock stares, his gaze relentless. “I could deduce no other way you would stop pursuing him, and that he would cease contact with you.”

McCoy chokes back a sob. “It was like talking to a breathing statue. He had ceased to care about anyone or anything. And it was all my fault.” Spock presses his hand over McCoy’s, and McCoy tries to pull away half-heartedly. 

Spock doesn’t allow him to withdraw his hand. “Is this connected to your reason for ceasing to contact Jim Kirk?”

“I had never said anything about the relationship to anyone. I confessed to Jim after Spock left,” McCoy says, heartbroken. “He was upset, that I expected. I expected him to be hurt too, for not telling him before. But - I think he blamed me for Spock leaving. Things could never be the same between us after that.”

“The blame is placed incorrectly, but I understand why he would draw such conclusions.”

“What, so whose fault is it? Spock’s?” McCoy’s voice is bitter. “Sure, it’s Spock’s fault for not loving me enough. Maybe if he’d really loved me, he would’ve decided halfway through Kolinahr that it wasn’t worth it, and changed his mind.”

“Is that what you truly think?” McCoy doesn’t respond. “Doctor. He loved you.”

“You can’t know that.”

“On the contrary, I can, because I _am_ him. I know he desired you. ” Spock inches closer. “Doctor, I confess, at first I scorned my other self for desiring a human as rude, as exasperating and thoroughly _illogical_ as you.”

Affection and despair crash together in McCoy’s chest. “Spock-”

“I did not think I could feel this way for anyone, but I am beginning to understand now.” Spock leans further towards McCoy, desperate.

McCoy presses his hand to Spock’s chest and pushes him away. “Spock, don’t. I’m not - _I’m_ the one responsible for Nero. I’m responsible for the destruction of Vulcan. Knowing that, could you still love me?”

Spock’s breath catches. “Surely you exaggerate.”

“Do you _think_ I want to be responsible for this, Spock? I can’t even begin to describe the magnitude of the crime, there aren’t any words.” McCoy gets up. “Spare yourself the heartache and forget about it.”

“I cannot derive a conclusion without knowing all the variables, Doctor.”

McCoy escapes through the bedroom door. Spock doesn’t follow.

“I’m tired of eggs,” Scotty announces, even as he polishes off a third serving of food.

“I’ve got news for ya, ungrateful nerd. I’m a doctor, not a restaurant owner.” McCoy is distracted by the sight of Spock, arms curled around his bony knees as he stares at the table. His dark circles are becoming more prominent.

Scotty leaves with a clatter, leaving Spock and McCoy alone again. McCoy leaves his seat of safety at the other end of the table, and walks up right next to the young Vulcan, who looks up at him.

“You’ve barely eaten anything since you came to Delta Vega. Eat your egg squares.”

“They are not squares.” Spock looks down at his serving of round and ordinary sunny side up eggs. The eggs are perfectly normal inside, it's just the shells that come out weird and geometric.

McCoy sighs. “Spock, when's the last time you've slept for more than an hour?”

Spock is tapping a finger silently against the edge of the table. “I cannot sleep. My mind is preoccupied. I find myself constantly thinking about the welfare of _Enterprise_ and her crew.”

“Spock. Even if you had the chance when we first got here, they're definitely out of reach by now. What happens, happens.”

“My brain is aware of such facts, but my body refuses to cooperate.” The young Vulcan leans his forehead into McCoy’s arm. His voice becomes plaintive. “Doctor, I wish I could rest. I'm so tired.”

McCoy stifles a sigh.

Truthfully, for all their years spent together, McCoy has determined only one reliable means of shutting down Spock's rampant anxiety. 

And there's no way in hell McCoy's gonna propose doing _that_.

McCoy steps away from the Vulcan. “I'm sorry, Spock.”

Spock rises, food untouched. “A distraction of some sort is necessary. I shall assist Mr. Scott in his efforts to restore the outpost.”

He holds McCoy’s gaze for a moment, then leaves.


	3. Chapter 3

“Doctor.”

McCoy snaps out of his half-asleep state and nearly falls off the couch. He squints in the darkness at the open bedroom door. “Spock? Are you alright?”

Spock peers through the opening with a hooded gaze. He’s not wearing a shirt, revealing the expanse of lithe muscle and enticing skin. McCoy forces his gaze away. 

“Doctor, there is a possibility that the temperature is the cause of my insomnia.” 

“Should I wake Scotty?” McCoy moves to get up.

“No,” Spock says quickly. He pauses before speaking, his tone now hesitant. “Would you join me in bed again?”

McCoy feels like his heart might burst, seeing the young Vulcan’s charming fumblings at trying to get his attention. 

He shouldn’t do this.

Spock waits patiently for a response, and McCoy’s willpower quite predictably crumbles. He drags himself off the couch. “Put on a shirt first.” 

He brings his pillow, only to drop it in surprise when Spock locks the door and turns on him.

“Spock,” McCoy begins, but completely loses his train of thought when Spock grabs both his hands, caressing the palms. His scent surrounds him.

“Doctor, I have seen what you did with my counterpart when he was overwhelmed by his distress. It appeared extremely effective in temporarily stabilizing his mental fortitude.” Spock’s face is inches from McCoy’s. “I must determine if the same results would apply to me.”

McCoy wants to drag a hand down his face. “You're propositioning me.”

“Indeed I am.” Spock holds one of McCoy’s hands to his face and presses a chaste kiss to his palm, and McCoy is conflicted like never before. “I must take advantage of this opportunity. You’re the only one that will ever be able to handle my body in such an intimate manner.”

“That’s not true at all, Spock, you can always learn to love again.”

Spock is already shaking his head. “Do you not understand how precious you are to me? I thought I would never have someone to turn to for the rest of my life. However you appeared, already knowing and loving all of me.”

“Spock. I’m the one responsible for what happened to Vulcan. If I told you-”

“Then don’t tell me.” Spock doesn’t let go. “Doctor, please. I need you.”

McCoy could never resist Spock for long. Especially when he asked so directly. Spock had always asked for so little despite McCoy wanting to give generously, lavishly. 

Maybe it was _because_ he knew McCoy would bleed out for him if he wanted McCoy to.

“Not Doctor,” McCoy says, his voice husky. “Leonard.”

Spock's breath hitches. “Leonard. Please.”

McCoy’s eyes almost slide closed hearing his name in that smooth voice.

If McCoy is being honest, half the reason he first fell in love with the Spock of his universe was because of his voice, a gorgeous, chesty baritone that rose and fell with its inflections. McCoy argued with him every chance he got just to hear that tone directed at him.

This younger Spock’s voice is no less devastating, with its curious timbre and almost indistinguishable tremor on each syllable. 

Spock’s eyes are wide, gauging McCoy's reaction. He leans even closer, and his breath ghosts against McCoy’s lips as he lets out a breathy moan. “ _Leonard._ ”

McCoy's growls. “You devious little Vulcan.” Spock laughs McCoy pushes Spock back onto the bed and straddles him. 

Spock pulls him down by the neck into a deep kiss. McCoy complies, running his tongue between the Vulcan's cooler lips. Spock shudders from the contact. His hands grow insistent, impatient as they tug at McCoy’s clothing.

McCoy grabs at his wrists before they can slip further down. He pulls Spock’s hands above his head, almost touching the headboard. Muscles and sinew are stretched to their limit, baring Spock’s exposed torso to McCoy.

“Keep your hands there,” McCoy orders, running his thumb over Spock’s palm.

“Yes, Leonard,” Spock breathes. He twists his fingers together as McCoy lets his fingers run back down Spock’s long arms. He ponders, and starts by kissing Spock’s temple, a lingering press of the lips. 

He kisses Spock’s nose while carefully brushing back his disheveled bangs, revealing smooth, pale forehead. McCoy lets his lips linger there next, feeling the texture of the hairline.

Spock’s arms strain from their tension. “It would require far less effort to simply take me, Doctor.”

“It’s not about me tonight.” McCoy inches down, kissing the edge of that soft jawline, further and further down Spock’s neck to the dip of his collarbone. 

McCoy kisses the skin and trail of hair right above the elastic of the boxers, tugging them down to reveal more skin. Spock tilts his hips, letting McCoy fully remove them.

McCoy adjusts his position to lovingly touch the expanse of Spock’s legs, exploring, marveling at the flawless skin and muscle. He runs his fingers over the top of one knee, curling his fingers around the back of a calf. Then he repeats with the other leg.

Spock’s arms twitch. “Leonard?”

“Keep them there, Spock.” McCoy lets his fingers run over the curve of Spock’s hip bones.

“I do not know if I can.” Spock’s voice trembles.

McCoy’s voice is affectionate. “Let yourself be loved, Spock.”

McCoy kisses the skin above one nipple. Spock tries to push up into the touch, but McCoy keeps his touch chaste, continuing to press light kisses onto Spock’s chest and stomach. 

McCoy lies down and rests his ear over the young Vulcan lower side, listening to the rapid pulse flutter. McCoy sighs and tilts his head to press a tender kiss over that lovely, beating heart.

Spock lurches away from his touch. 

“Spock,” McCoy begins, but Spock has already twisted over to his side, arms curled around him, face averted from view.

His shoulders are shaking.

McCoy presses behind him and gently covers Spock’s eyes with his hand. His voice is gentle. “Oh, darling. Is it that scary to know you’re loved?”

Spock trembles, struggling to quell his spilling tears.

McCoy noses at Spock’s soft hair, wrapping his fingers more tightly over Spock’s eyes. “No one's looking, Spock. No one will ever know. I'll never tell a soul.”

That’s when Spock breaks.

Spock weeps openly, chest heaving from his unsteady breaths. Tears slip onto McCoy’s palm and fingers and onto the mattress. He gasps and whimpers.

McCoy slips his other arm under Spock’s torso and just holds on.

“I couldn't save her, Leonard. I watched my mother slip out of my reach and fall to her death.”

“Oh, Spock.” McCoy lets the hand wrapped around Spock’s waist move to stroke over his heart in deliberate, comforting touches.

Spock sobs until the tears are gradually exhausted, until the trembling fades to occasional shudders.

When he slips into unconsciousness, McCoy’s hands are still covering Spock’s face and heart.

“Doctor McCoy!” Scotty yells as he barges into the room, wrapped in his scarf and parka. 

“Hell’s bells, would you pipe down,” McCoy barks, struggling to sit up. He glances down at Spock, who dozes on, oblivious.

Scotty looks completely unfazed to see McCoy under the blankets with a naked Spock. “We’ve received a transmission from Starfleet! Earth is saved!”

McCoy whips his head up. “What?”

“Jim Kirk successfully led the rescue operation to save Pike before Nero’s ship was consumed by a black hole. Very exciting stuff.” Scotty is practically vibrating now. “Starfleet’s finally sending a ship to transport us back to Earth. No more square eggs and Starfleet protein nibs!”

Scotty whoops and exits as quickly as he came. McCoy shakes his head in bemusement and leans over Spock, testing his pulse and temperature.

He grabs the medicorder, and its readings confirm his suspicions. The young Vulcan has finally gone into a healing trance. 

It would be nearly impossible to wake him up, but McCoy is gentle as he kisses Spock's temple and eases out of bed to carefully wrap the blankets more securely around him.

McCoy expects Spock to be relieved by the news, but Spock’s face is expressionless.

Spock looks at the blankets clenched in his hands. His voice is strained with humiliation. “It appears my assistance was never necessary.”

McCoy can’t stand Spock looking so small and insecure. “Spock, listen,” he begins.

Keenser appears at the door, interrupting whatever train of thought McCoy had been formulating. He says something incomprehensible, but Spock goes even more ramrod straight.

“Yes. I will be there soon.”

Keenser leaves to allow Spock to dress in privacy. McCoy watches blankly. “What’s that all about?”

Spock tightens the newly replicated red parka around his body. “My father is on call. He requests my presence.”

“Oh.” McCoy had never gotten along with the Sarek of his universe, who was relentlessly cold and calloused to his son. McCoy is certain Sarek had been surprised when Spock went through with Kolinhar, but the old Vulcan had never voiced his opinion on the matter. 

McCoy can’t help but wonder about this Sarek in a world newly without Amanda. He must be going through an incredibly difficult time. For all his vices, Sarek had loved his wife dearly.

Spock nervously adjusts his sleeves. “Doctor, I think I would like to speak to my father alone.”

McCoy tilts his head and allows Spock to walk past him.

“My father assisted the _Enterprise_ in infiltrating the Romulan ship.”

McCoy pauses, toothbrush still halfway in his mouth. Spock is rubbing a finger against the blankets over his thigh, an obvious sign that he is losing himself in his thoughts again. “He said that Kirk and your counterpart wish to apologize to me in person.”

McCoy finishes rinsing before looking at Spock again. “You worried about seeing them?”

“It does not seem possible to face them ever again.” Spock sighs. “I could not live as a Vulcan or a human, and Starfleet became my place of refuge. Perhaps now there is no place for me there as well.”

McCoy sits close to Spock and wraps his hand around the back of his neck. “It’s not like they were exemplary role models, Spock. Apologize to each other. You can still go back. Everyone will learn from their own mistakes and be stronger for it.”

The young Vulcan takes McCoy’s free hand between his own. He toys with the cuticle of each finger, runs the pad of his thumb over each neatly trimmed nail. “Your hands are very gentle, Leonard.”

McCoy tugs Spock’s face closer, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Come here. I’ll show you a proper distraction tonight.”

Spock wraps both arms around McCoy’s shoulders and allows himself to be tilted back onto the mattress.

The Federation starship looms in the early morning sky as the smaller transporter shuttlecraft ship descends through the atmosphere to the snowy ground of Delta Vega. 

Spock is tense as he stands in front of McCoy. Scotty and Keenser are close behind. They all watch as two figures disembark from the opening door of the shuttlecraft. Wind and snow threaten to remove McCoy’s parka hood from where he holds it tightly to his head.

McCoy had braced himself, but he finds himself taking a step back when he sees the younger versions of his former best friend and himself.

Spock swiftly grabs McCoy’s arm, preventing him from moving any further away.

“Spock!” The younger McCoy advances with a tricorder, as if he is reluctant to believe the young Vulcan’s previous reports of adequate health. Jim approaches more reluctantly. 

“Signs of malnutrition and sleep deprivation, no signs of any frostbite or hypothermia-” McCoy’s younger counterpart finally looks up at the young Vulcan. Spock is completely still.

Jim moves to put a hand on the younger McCoy’s shoulder. “Bones, wait.” McCoy is gutted to see the haggard expression on this Jim’s face. He’s too young for such deep creases of worry to be imbedded in his features.

Jim steps closer, his eyes focused only on the younger Vulcan, and he says something McCoy doesn’t understand. 

Spock’s breath hitches. He replies in the same indecipherable tongue, and McCoy realizes it is the Vulcan language of this universe. 

Spock shivers slightly. “I accept your apology, Kirk.” He hesitates. “My own actions were also inappropriate and I apologize for endangering you both along with the entirety of the crew.”

“Well, it’s good you’re aware,” the younger McCoy huffs.

“Bones,” Jim murmurs, not breaking eye contact with Spock. He gently prods the doctor.

The younger McCoy merely turns the tricorder on Scotty and Keenser. “Mr. Montgomery Scott, Mr. Keenser - that’s three. So who’re you?” He faces McCoy. 

McCoy finally lets go of the hood. Jim chokes.

The younger McCoy raises an eyebrow in a gesture that would impress even the Spock of McCoy’s universe. “Why’re you making that noise, kid?”

Jim gestures wildly. “What the fuck, Bones - _it’s your face!_ ”

The younger McCoy whips back around to stare at McCoy. “Huh?”

“Kirk is correct,” Spock says. He hasn’t let go of McCoy’s arm. “This is Leonard McCoy’s counterpart from an alternate reality, the same one that Nero arrived from.”

“Well, I’ll be.” The younger McCoy still doesn’t look convinced. “How do you know he’s telling the truth?”

“I don't need to prove myself to nobody,” McCoy says, irritated. “Can we fucking go already? It’s cold as all tarnation.”

Jim snorts. “Yeah. That’s you, Bones.”

Upon boarding the starship, Scotty and Keenser disappear to find the mess hall. The two McCoys wait awkwardly as Spock and Jim speak to each other in a private conference room out of view. 

McCoy didn’t miss the younger McCoy’s lack of an apology on Delta Vega. McCoy thinks of Spock’s eyes, filled with hurt when the younger senior medical officer turned away from him without another word. His choice has discouraged McCoy from further interacting with his younger counterpart. 

However, McCoy has to admit, it’s probably what he would’ve done himself when he had been younger and less mature, wary of everybody.

McCoy ends up wandering away to explore the starship. The technology is different, more militaristic and simple and efficient. It’s almost unrecognizable.

For the first time, McCoy realizes with a sinking feeling he’s never going back home.

In his desperation to find some semblance of familiarity, McCoy searches for the observation deck. He startles when he realizes there is already someone there, curled up on a hard bench staring up at the stars blurring by. 

“Spock?”

Spock doesn’t appear surprised by McCoy walking up to him. He leans into McCoy’s touch as McCoy sits at his side, wrapping an arm around his broad shoulders. 

“Kirk has asked me to be his first officer,” Spock says.

“You said yes, right?”

“I am unsure if I have made the correct decision,” Spock whispers. “The logical choice of action would be to resign my Starfleet commission and help rebuild the Vulcan race.”

“That brilliant hobgoblin brain of yours isn’t meant to be grounded on some colony somewhere, Spock.”

Spock faces McCoy with those wide, dark eyes. “What about you, Leonard? What will you do?”

“I guess whatever logically must be done.”

“Logically, Doctor?”

McCoy strokes Spock’s back. “If I could have my own illogical way, I’d never let you out of my sight again. But I'll say my goodbyes now.”

“Oh.” Spock looks down. “You are terminating our relationship.”

McCoy sighs. “I’m not gonna sit around and let you squander your opportunities because you were thinking about me, Spock.”

“I beg to differ, but somehow I feel I will not be able to successfully convince you at this time.”

“Damn right. I’ve been arguing with you way longer than you have with me.” McCoy trails a hand down the side of that pretty face, and a hint of a blush begins to appear at the edges of Spock’s cheeks.

“Will you stay in contact?”

McCoy hesitates. Their prolonged communication could very well be harmful to Spock’s growth. “I can’t be your crutch forever, Spock. You need to rely on others. Not just me.”

“Please, Doctor.” 

McCoy feels a pang of sympathy from the audibly nervous tone. Too much, too soon. “I won’t call often,” McCoy says finally.

Spock holds McCoy’s hand. “As long as you call.”

McCoy decides to go help the new Vulcan colony, which is in dire need of skilled medical practitioners. McCoy is an invaluable asset, already having detailed knowledge of treating Vulcan physiology.

He regrets his decision the moment they land on the planet. The planet is constantly hot beyond belief. Even the night provides little repose. The Vulcans are ceaselessly suspicious, cold, and skeptical of McCoy’s abilities. 

There are many Vulcans perishing from torn mind bonds, and McCoy feels each loss far more deeply than even his first losses on the _Enterprise_ , which had been wholly devastating.

Of course, McCoy proceeds to do what he always does. He grits his teeth and soldiers on.

In such a turbulent, unpredictable time of his life, Spock is like clockwork. Every week, McCoy’s home monitor informs him of an incoming call, seventeen-hundred hours on the dot.

Spock asks for updates on the colony, a poorly veiled excuse to the true reason for his calls. Spock is always in various states of dress when he calls, and the length of the calls range from seconds to hours.

McCoy has to shake his head ruefully. No doubt the times of day vary rapidly for the _Enterprise_ every time Spock makes the call. Only that green-blooded hobgoblin would go to such lengths to maintain his promise.

Then one day, McCoy waits at the monitor and Spock doesn’t video call at the appointed time.

The call never comes through.

The next week arrives, and when Spock calls he acts as if nothing had ever gone amiss. McCoy can't find it in him to bring it up before the call ends. 

A month passes with regular contact. Then Spock does not call again. 

McCoy hesitates. He waits. He waits more. He walks back and forth in his empty house, cursing and muttering.

McCoy finally dials first.

The monitor shows the call has been sent, and it keeps ringing without response.

McCoy startles as his comm blinks, letting him know of a received text. It’s Spock.

_> > voice call_

McCoy dials with his comm immediately and Spock picks up on the first ring.

“Doctor.” Spock's voice is full of tears. He sounds as if he has been crying for a long time.

“Dammit, Spock,” McCoy murmurs. He settles down, comm still pressed to his ear. “You're not hurt?”

“No. Everyone is safe, including myself.” McCoy listens to Spock's hitched breaths, and he wishes desperately to hold Spock close.

Spock's voice shakes. “Doctor?”

McCoy's reply is soft. “I'm not going anywhere.”

It is a while before Spock breaks the silence again.

“Leonard, I am - very upset.”

McCoy doesn't make any remarks in response.

“I find my shortcomings frustrating.”

“What shortcomings?”

“I am still experiencing difficulty integrating with the crew.”

“By crew, do you mean Jim?”

Hesitation. McCoy wonders what expression Spock is making now.

“There is a Vulcan lieutenant under my command. She consistently disapproves of the choices I make in leadership.” 

“The lieutenant is treating you unfairly?”

“She has not done anything to warrant a report for her actions.”

“No one should be subjected to underserved criticism, Commander, especially you.”

Spock's voice goes quieter. “She reminds me of the Vulcans that mocked my heritage when I was a child.”

McCoy closes his eyes. “Talk to your Captain, Spock. If there's anyone that knows what it's like to be bullied, it's Jim.”

There's a hint of disbelief in Spock's voice. “Captain Kirk?”

“Golden boy has a lot of history. But it's not my place to tell.”

Spock is silent as he processes this information. “I shall talk to the captain tonight.”

“Good. Is there any way I can help?”

“Simply knowing you make yourself available to me is encouragement in itself, Doctor.” Spock’s voice becomes tender. “Not only are you free of expectations of how I must act, you have seen all of me.”

McCoy's mind derails as he thinks of exactly _how_ he's seen all of Spock. He squashes down the thought instantly. He's not a teenaged adolescent anymore.

“Leonard?” Spock is speaking again. He pauses. “Leonard, thank you.”

McCoy closes his eyes. “You know me, Spock. Anything for you.”

Their contact transforms after that day. Spock continues to video call, but during his moments of vulnerability, when he's feeling overwhelmed or confused, he waits for McCoy to dial with his comm. 

The voice calls are hushed, and somehow far more intimate than any interaction they have held before.

Spock confesses that he tried to speak to the Jim and McCoy of this universe about McCoy on multiple occasions, but the response is always wary. Jim thinks it’s bad karma to learn about the future from McCoy, no matter how slight, and the younger doctor doesn’t like his counterpart seemingly just on principle.

McCoy doesn’t mind. He understands it’s not the easiest situation in the world to deal with, and these kids already have so much in their pasts and on their minds.

One night Spock sounds sleepy as he speaks to McCoy over the comm. After a long length of comfortable silence, Spock asks, “Will you ever tell me why you believe you are the cause for the death of Vulcan?”

The words feel like a dagger of ice though McCoy’s heart.

Spock’s voice is hesitant. “ I understand - I do not deserve a response, nor are you obligated to tell me, but I would like to know.”

McCoy can’t respond.

“You mean more to me than you will ever know, Leonard.”

“Oh, Spock.” McCoy can't help letting his voice go warm and tender thinking of the young Vulcan despite the impending subject matter.

Another length of silence.

“Go get rest, Spock.”

Spock sighs. “Good night, Leonard.”

They disconnect.

McCoy fiddles with the comm before tossing it to the bedside table. 

The comm beeps. “Confirm recording of voice message?”

“Yes.”

“Begin recording after the beep.”

The comm beeps once. 

“Hi, Spock. I heard the _Enterprise_ will be at Starbase 56 in a week or so for shore leave. You'd probably know the exact date and time. I'll be there.”

McCoy bites his lip. “After hearing this message, Spock - you don’t have to come find me. I’d understand completely. Regardless of what you choose to do, please know that I love you and I want the best for you, always.”

McCoy takes a moment to gather himself, resolving not to let himself be lost in his memories.

“After wandering around for a while between starships, I wound up using my skills to assist the Romulans. At the time we were forming a tentative relationship with their people.

“We discovered their planet’s sun was on the verge of going supernova. That was when red matter was formulated, a material that could create a black hole to absorb the dying star. Red matter is highly unstable, and there was only one Romulan scientist who knew how to handle it. There was just one problem - he was chronically ill.”

McCoy is silent for a moment. “His sickness got worse rapidly a few days before the red matter was ready to deploy. I couldn’t save him. He wouldn’t live to see the supernova begin.”

McCoy squeezes his eyes shut.

“Spock, I - that Romulan - we had grown close during our time together, as brief as it was. One might even say we were lovers at the time of his death. But the only reason I noticed that Romulan scientist in the first place was because - was because he looked just like _him_.”

McCoy’s breath flutters. “When his heart stopped, I didn’t even realize I’d whispered the wrong name until Nero approached me and said, ‘That’s a Vulcan name, Doctor.’

“Nero was enraged. He tried to stop the supernova himself, but it was too late. Their star went supernova and we were sucked into the black hole Nero created.”

McCoy chokes back a sob. “I’m responsible for the loss of Nero’s world, and your world as well. I’m so sorry, Spock. I’m so sorry.”

Words will never be able to capture what he feels, but McCoy continues to repeat the words into the comm with his eyes still closed, as if begging for forgiveness he shouldn’t be asking for.

McCoy is puzzled to see a voicemail waiting for him the next day.

He listens.

He finds himself covering his mouth. 

The message ends, and McCoy lets his hands drop to his sides.

His tears are nothing like the tears he shed on Delta Vega. McCoy finally straightens up, and his heart is lighter than it has been in decades.

With his heart in his throat, McCoy watches the crew members of the _Enterprise_ walk past him in a colorful flood, laughing and talking. 

Suddenly a gentle hand reaches from behind to cover McCoy’s eyes.

There is a beautiful voice right in his ear. “I am under the impression this is a playful Terran greeting in which I must also recite the words, 'guess who?'”

McCoy chokes out a laugh. Before he can say anything, Spock whirls him around and kisses him deeply, right in front of everyone.

McCoy pulls back with a gasp. “That's one hell of a greeting, darling.”

Spock is suddenly shy. “I missed your touch, Leonard.”

McCoy can’t help kissing him again at that, a chaste kiss to the corner of his upturned lips. When Spock offers his hand to hold, McCoy grasps it and doesn't let go.

_Doctor._

_I anticipate you do not expect a response to the message that you sent to me. However, I have decided that it would be illogical to make you wait for my answer until the Enterprise arrived at the Starbase on Stardate 2259.0787._

_You believe your emotional reaction to the Romulan scientist’s death led to Nero’s subsequent outlash._

_Perhaps I would have blamed you at another time of my life. It would’ve been easy to do so, especially if I had not known you. Perhaps I would have blamed you even when I was in the process of learning about you._

_However, I am certain that I would have eventually seen the reality of the situation, Doctor._

_In the end, the choice was Nero’s. It was Nero’s actions that destroyed my home planet, and Nero’s actions that brought such great destruction and heartbreak._

_I know you will continue to blame yourself despite what anyone says, and I wish you would not do so. I hope with each day you will come to see the truth as I have._

_When I told you that I was beginning to understand my love for you - I was not telling the truth. I do not think I will ever understand, and in that I understand completely. I was already in love with you, as I am now and always will be._

_Please wait for me, Doctor. I promise I will come find you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> /ofc my first spones fic would be some wacky au rip/
> 
> thank you for reading!


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